Beauty in the Breaking
by KaleidoscopeEyes213
Summary: The members of the Breakfast Club try to protect the bonds forged between them on Saturday. Claire's confused, John's guarded, Allison's a private person, Andy's under pressure, and Brian is... well, Brian. Can they make it work or will they fall apart?


**Disclaimer: **Not mine, obviously, because this is fanfiction and if anyone on here tries to claim the fandoms they write about, they are obviously lying. Because they are not John Hughes or Universal or whoever happens to own the rights to their fanfiction universe. And it they were, they wouldn't need to be writing stuff on here, because they could just go out and get it published.

**A/N: **I decided to continue with this sequel to These Children That You Spit On because writing the first one was so much fun! I suggest you read that story first, because it's kind of a prologue, but it's definitely not required. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading the continuation!

John Bender

Black flecks of ash falling to the ground, swirling in flurries as they were picked up by the air currents stirred by the movement of his legs, like a morbid downpour of hot, burnt black snowflakes in the land of the dead. That was exactly how John Bender felt; lifeless, listless, as aimless and dead as the ashes falling from his cigarette as he tapped it with a single finger and sent the charred flecks scattering to the asphalt beneath his worn boots. There was a biting chill in the air that day uncharacteristic of late March, the glimmering sheen of frost winking with the reflection of the light provided by the cold, distant sun; the thin white mist of vaporized breath mixing with a stream of smoke as he expelled each exhalation, swirling out of existence as they dissipated, steam and smog combined into one single entity as both united in eradication.

Cigarette now reduced to a stub, another drag sure to burn filter, the no longer functional remainder was cast aside, pulled to the concrete by the selfsame force that grounded the ashes of that carcass's once full form and crushed heavy underfoot before being left forgotten in the wake of a preoccupied teenager. He cursed the looming gray visage of his daily prison, the home away from home which really was a horrifying, startling correlation of his home life, as its presence stayed his hand from its desired course toward his pocket and the cigarette carton that housed rolls of something else less legal than tar and nicotine therein. He placated himself with the knowledge that he would undoubtedly find time during class to ditch for a quick hit, and if he couldn't find it, he was confident in his ability to make time for such necessary release. After all, his reputation as a master manipulator of situations to create ideal distractions—diversionary tactics effective and innovative enough to evoke jealousy in the hearts of even the most talented of magicians—was not based solely on speculation and conjecture, but on solid facts that could be confirmed by trustworthy eyewitnesses. He was no amateur by any stretch of the imagination.

As for the day's most pressing issue, on whether or not he would be better suited to play it cool and avoid the subject of detention altogether, pretending as though nothing had happened, that nothing had changed, he had decided that, since Allison was pretty chill, he would support her in whatever decision she made regarding that particular affair. Not only that, but she had also been the sole member of the group to undertake any tangible physical transformation, and therefore her position on the matter would be easily discernible, whatever it may be. However she came in that day, that's exactly how he was going to play it. Of course, if Claire sought him out, changed Allison or not, he was loath to ignore her, and so, in those such circumstances, that particular ingenious plan was irrelevant. Maybe it was irrelevant either way, because what use was basing your actions upon those of the person who wasn't the one you wanted to get a reaction from?

As he neared the building, he lashed out with a heavy, worn black leather boot to kick a chunk of cement that had come apart from the rest of a cracked square slab of sidewalk, sending the projectile clattering along forward, bouncing as it hit uneven patches on the concrete. And he followed in it's wake, coming level once again with the glued-together medley of different stones only to strike it once more and send the object sprawling along anew, a piece of misfit, useless conglomerate rock spurred on along a path it did not want to take by a force over which it held no semblance of control. That was how he felt sometimes, but not today, not now, even despite the fact that he had no lunch to speak of, or any food to hold him over during the course of the day for that matter, and the morning's breakfast of stale bread may have been slightly more palatable had there perhaps been electricity to lend life and heat to the toaster which was a useless appliance without. Or maybe even, God forbid, a bit of butter to add flavor and counter the dryness. But that was neither here nor there, because having something even remotely substantial within his stomach was better than forfeiting both the morning and noon meals in addition to the heat and electricity for his father's cheap liquor, and toasted or not it all broke down into the same elemental nutrients once it had been chewed and swallowed.

He thought that this was perhaps the first time in his life that he had actually come in early to school. Maybe this unexpected turn of events was due to the newfound need he felt to do something different today in order not to lose sight of the important changes he had been through two days before, as well as because he wanted to get away from the disturbing noises coming from his father's bedroom signaling that he had once again brought home a lady friend late the night before, or more likely in the early hours of the morning. He fingered the wallet in his pocket as he thought of all the photos of girls he had been with nestled safely within protective sheets of plastic in his never ending quest to be as unlike his father as possible. This way, he never forgot the face or name of any girl with whom he spent the night; some he saw regularly, others had the faces of women he hadn't seen in months or sometimes even years, but if ever he did run into one of them at some point, he would save them the hurt of knowing they had been forgotten, because they hadn't. He made sure to remember every one.

When he reached the front steps of the school, he mounted the first few stairs, climbing up halfway before turning abruptly and plopping down to sit upon the cold gray surface, rooting around in one of the many other pockets of his old jean jacket beneath the trench coat and extracting a pack of mint gum, unwrapping a stick and popping it into his mouth. After crumpling up the wrapper and discarding it with a flick down the remainder of the flight of stairs below his current position, he fidgeted with the package for a moment, turning it around and around in his hand, tapping the sides and sending it spinning like a whirligig from its position held between his forefinger and thumb before returning it to its place in his jacket. In a much-needed release of nervous energy, he began to whistle and jam wildly on an air guitar at intervals, depending on the state of his rapidly changing mood whose only consistency throughout was the lingering nervousness tying his stomach into rather tight, painful knots and that tingly, fluttery sensation that came over him along with any thought of Claire. Needless to say, this strange but pleasant feeling had become quite familiar to him over the past few days.

He sincerely hoped that she would spot him from his place halfway up the steps leading to the school's front doors, and maybe take a moment or fifty to acknowledge his existence in some discernable way, so that he would at least know she remembered; eye contact, a nod of the head, perhaps even a word of greeting. And if she decided to waltz over to his position on the cool gray step and grasp him firmly by the shoulders, before looking him plainly and unashamedly in the eye and pressing her lips to his, he would not be complaining; in fact, he would probably be incapable of forming anything remotely resembling coherent thought, and the tingly feeling would amp up, growing in pleasurable intensity and most likely swallowing him up whole or else causing the wiring in his brain and heart to short circuit. And, as he reached up to twirl the diamond earring between his rough fingers, rubbing them over the surface with an almost religious sort of reverence for what must have been the thousandth time since he had put it in his earlobe, he thought that would be a good way to go.

Death by happiness; it was certainly unexpected, considering the fact that he was not generally an overtly cheerful person, but it was surely preferable to some of the other more likely possibilities that could lead to his demise, such as bludgeoning to death. A shiver stole through him at the thought alone as he raised a hand to the skin over his left eye which still retained its odd coloration and stood in obvious protrusion from the surrounding area, and he quickly diverted his train of contemplation back to a more enjoyable track. Claire. He would think about Claire, he decided, and he did; he let thoughts of Claire fill his mind and he felt the tension slowly seeping from his limbs and being absorbed into the stone beneath him along with the body heat the cold surface stole from him as he called to the forefront of his mind memories of her hair, her scent, her smile, and waited in anxious excitement to experience her presence in person.

Clair Standish

The air was thick and heavy and oppressive, with the tension that had been building all day to reach this level of nearly unbearable strain pressing in, seeming too thick to breath easily, substantial enough to be sliced open with a knife like the belly of a fish. The atmosphere in the car seemed to weigh heavily upon Claire's body as well as her heart, as though the bond between herself and her father had been drawn taught to maximum capacity, like an elastic band stretched to just within the range of possibility, on the verge of snapping at any moment. No spoken words were exchanged between the two, and the silence that had descended only added to the weight of the air that seemed to press in around them from all sides, boxed into that BMW, a space which seemed far too small to fit such a cumbersome weight of tension without their voices or even the sound of the radio to so much as marginally alleviate it.

The quiet that had fallen over them in a thick, suffocating blanket was a laden one, as though all the words left unsaid were slowly filling up the space between the two passengers, hanging in the air around, waiting to be spoken, and yet they remained unarticulated as time wore on. What more could Claire say to argue her point than she already had? The words that hung suspended in the air around were so close, and yet she could not reach out with her tongue and transfer them into plain spoken English, whether due to fear or inability or lack of desire she could not tell; maybe because she knew, somehow, that even though he spoke the language he would not understand the things she had to say. She could think of nothing, try as she might, to even so much as reassure her father that she would be alright, that she knew exactly what she was getting herself into and that this was what she wanted; it was a waste of breath, a waste of words, a waste of time to start an argument, and she would not be like her parents, always fighting and never happy, because she had vowed to be different, and so different she would be.

She definitely felt different; maybe not the light, floaty feeling she had experienced yesterday, what with the silence and the heaviness of the very air surrounding weighing down on her and her previously soaring spirits, but it was definitely something. A warm sort if glow in the bottom of her belly that felt nice, like a roaring fire on a cold winter day, and she liked it, was glad that, even with the disappearance of her other nice sensation, this one had remained. It seemed to be the driving force behind the weightlessness of yesterday; like the flames that lifted hot air balloons into the sky as they transformed cool air to hot, this warmth changed her sour feelings into happy ones, and she had felt light as a feather with the buoying, bubbly, airborne quality all positive emotions seem to possess. And then she had been let down, popped, deflated by her father's disapproval and all of the horrible accusations he had made about John that he refused to take back and she refused to accept, because they were all lies, and it was as though that burst of negativity had doused her in cold water, and the additional heaviness of her waterlogged hair and clothing had managed to elicit a strong enough gravitational pull to succeed in bringing her back down to earth from the cloud she had been walking on since kissing John Bender, and she hadn't wanted that feeling to go away.

One thing she was sure of, however, and her certainty in this fact was unwavering and would remain so, she was sure, no matter what her father said or did or rather, in this particular case, whatever he _didn't_ do and say. She had to be able to rely upon this one thing, and if she couldn't she was sure that she would be nothing more than a buoy bobbing up and down, unfounded and without anchorage in an ocean far more vast than the sheltered harbor in which she had spent her entire existence up until this point. This one thing in which she needed to invest her total and complete faith was the fact that John Bender would show up to school, show up and cross paths with her at some point during the day, so that she could gauge his reaction to her and see the state of his countenance, where he stood in regards to that detention and its effects on him; if he refused to even acknowledge that it had happened, then she would be disappointed, for sure, but at least she would have the verdict, and she was pretty sure a bad answer was better than being left hanging like a fish left forgotten on a hook with no answer at all to satisfy her.

Of course, if he smiled and winked and gave her some indication that he remembered, and that what had happened that Saturday had actually meant something to him, as much as it had meant to her—or maybe she'd even settle for less in this instance, something that she'd never done before, because she knew she'd take whatever she got and at least being disappointed would be different, a change, if a rather painful one—she would certainly not be complaining. And if he walked up to her and grabbed her and gave her that infuriating yet adorable smirk that almost managed to conceal the tenderness and wonder and maybe even a little bit of something else in his gaze, but didn't quite succeed, before kissing her senseless… well, she wouldn't have any qualms with that, either, that was for sure. In fact, such and act would most likely drive all thoughts from her head and the burning in her stomach might spread through her and she would explode in a burst of light and sound like a supernova or else become so feather-light that she floated up into the air and disappeared into the vast expanse of the sky like a lost balloon filled with happiness in place of the customary helium.

She didn't even notice the looming visage of the drab gray school building as the car pulled up beside the curb directly preceding the staircase to the front entrance until the wheels rolled to a gradual but steady stop and the sudden lack of motion startled her from her thoughts enough to rouse her attention, which she turned to the sight of the school sitting beyond the passenger's side window out of which she stared. Heaving a deep sigh which was the first break in the oppressive silence since the doors first slammed as they had settled in before the daily drive commenced, she reached for the handle of her door and pulled on the lever, pushing to swing the door outward and turning, poised to slam it shut once again. But then she saw her father, and she had the sudden and inexplicable urge to say something, to break the quiet which echoed in her ears, because she didn't want to leave things like this between them, both ignoring the other and drowning in the words neither could bring themselves to utter. So she allowed the smallest hint of a smile to twist her lips as she looked at her father, whose gaze was trained unwaveringly and with a sort of stiff intensity at the windshield straight ahead, and her smile turned a little strained, a little fake, the smallest bit forced as she said quietly, with a sad little ring to her voice which she didn't even try to cover up, "Bye, Daddy." And then she let the door swing shut and watched top of the car as it loitered for several seconds longer before slowly picking up speed and driving off.

Claire was zoned out as she met up with her friends Maggie and Tess at the foot of the cement stairs leading up to the building, slightly disgusted with herself for returning to this habit rather than opting to go with something different, a change, because that's what she wanted. But it was harder than it looked, harder than it sounded, harder even than she had thought it would be until that moment, as she fell into step with two other girls whose knowledge of Claire's life was limited to what she'd bought at Polo Ralph Lauren last week during their shopping trip and which expensive brand of lipstick she preferred over the others. And she hated herself, but that was nothing new really, because there was something else there underneath all of her fashion and popularity and likelihood to win the title of Prom Queen that year which was revolted by all these titles and falsities that it was hidden behind. But today she thought she just might loath herself even a little bit more than usual. She didn't really listen to their conversation, and rather pretended to pay attention, because she quite honestly didn't much care why Troy and Stephanie had broken up or who had gotten into a fight with Brad Stevenson last Friday or even the huge sale at her favorite shoe store that she had missed the day before.

And then, halfway up the staircase, her eyes locked onto a pair of brown ones and all of the world seemed to stop spinning for an instant, as though everything hung suspended around her and she was falling through some timeless vacuum contained within those dark orbs, spinning away into oblivion as she floated on air, filled with a bubbly, giddy feeling. And then, when the earth seemed to recommence its spinning and began to once again turn around on its axis, all movement and life resuming around them, it seemed faster than normal, as though everything was moving around her while she stood outside of it all, perfectly still and unaffected by time and her surroundings. And then it went back to normal, and that almost seemed somehow even stranger than the fantastic, earth-stopping phenomenon she had just experienced, and her head was now the only thing that seemed to be spinning a mile a minute.

And then she registered the tiny smile twitching at the corners of her lips, and she felt her own mouth responding for a moment before it dropped open in horror at her sudden registration of the swollen black and blue mound of injured sin that normally was his left eye, and she cringed. A look of confusion contorted his features as his brow crinkled, eyebrows drawn together, and she remained standing still upon the steps and staring back at him, her friends walking on ahead, completely oblivious to her absence since she had never really taken an active role in the conversation that morning anyway. And as the students around her passed by, the bustling crowd slowly thinning out as the last stragglers made a mad dash to their homerooms, she remained where she was and so did he, and then they were alone, and neither moved, neither spoke; they simply stood and sat there, Claire and John respectively, staring into one another's eyes with an intensity that spoke volumes of things no words could ever hope to convey.

Not to sound desperate but... Please please pleeeeaaaaasssseee review! It makes me so happy and it is the holidays so that would be a great present.


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